


Punishment

by Dbaw3



Series: Focal Point [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, CBT, Feminization, M/M, Multi, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spanking, Werewolves are kinky, consent is king, hole spanking, stiles is pack bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: Peter thinks the Focal Point needs to be punished.John embraces his own kinks.Stiles enjoys it all.





	Punishment

John had come in from doing some light yardwork to grab something to drink, when he heard Jackson shout, “Gross, Stilinski!”

He knew Jackson had come over for some afternoon time with the Pack Bitch, but what John was surprised to see, as he came to stand in the doorway to the dining room with a glass of lemonade in one hand, was Peter sitting nearby watching speculatively.

The one rule they had–aside from whatever Stiles said went, and if he said no, everything stopped–was that Peter was not allowed one-on-one alone time with Stiles. John was actually surprised by how little Peter seemed to object to this unwritten rule, and even went out of his way to make sure John knew whenever he was there to make use of one of Stiles’ holes. But when John had gone outside in the first place, he’d passed Jackson coming in with a garment bag over one arm, he hadn’t seen Peter anywhere, so he must have come in sometime since.

“Sorry,” Stiles said, not sounding particularly sorry, panting from what must have been a pretty powerful orgasm, if the amount of cum Jackson now had dripping from his shirt. He’d not bothered getting undressed for his session with Stiles, John noticed, just opened his pants before laying Stiles back on the dining room table in his cheerleader outfit.

“Fuck sorry,” Jackson said, disgusted as he looked down at himself. “This is an expensive shirt. I’ve told you about coming on me, too.”

With all the disgust in his face and voice, John noted that Jackson still had his cock half-buried in Stiles’ ass as he stood between his legs.

John was still surprised how sweet and tender Jackson could sometimes be when he had Stiles dressed in girl’s clothing, especially when they went on their ‘dates’ now and then. But Jackson also still loved playing a little rough with Stiles, as well, and his ass ended up red and on display more often than not after a session with Jackson.

Not that John minded. He’d spent more than one evening recently with Stiles standing in a corner near the TV, admiring the view of Stiles with his kilt hiked up and panties pulled down as much as any show he could find to watch.

“I think the bitch has earned a punishment, don’t you?” Peter said suddenly, almost casually from where he’d been sitting, obviously watching Jackson fuck John’s son, possibly even waiting his turn to use the Pack Bitch.

Jackson glared at him, at least a little irritated by the interruption of his own outrage, but got a glint in his eye as his gaze met Peter’s, and John suddenly wanted to be there for whatever was coming next.

“I think you’re right,” Jackson said, finally pulling out of Stiles, who whined a little (he hated that empty feeling right after getting fucked, he’d told John before), before slapping him on the flank. “Go get something for me to punish you with, bitch.”

Stiles gave Jackson a “You’ve got to be kidding me” look, but got up from the table with a sigh, short skirt falling down to cover his now softening cock, while he walked out of the room.

“How about a little experimentation?” Peter said, tone still casual where he lounged in the extra dining room chair, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. John, as usual, had a strong urge to punch him in the face.

“Like what?” Jackson asked, bare cock still wet and hard where it stuck out from his pants.

“I think we all know by now how much our little Pack Bitch loves a good spanking. I’d be interested to see how much he can take.“

Jackson snorted. “He’ll come long before you can figure that out.”

Peter said, smile slowly widening until all his teeth were showing. “I was thinking more on who can make the bitch cry uncle first.”

Jackson started to smile back at him, and maybe John should have stopped it right there, but he’d been working in the yard, and had been already thinking about how long it had been since that morning’s blowjob. He probably should have just thrown them both out and taken his naughty little girl up to their bedroom and spent as much time as he could fucking her slow and sweet until other Pack members started showing up. But he’d gotten a taste for spanking his son’s (and daughter’s) sweet little ass, and had other ideas he’d barely let himself think about before, and fuck it, he was horny.

“Nothing that hurts him permanent, right?” Jackson asked, smile fading just slightly. John was a little surprised, but supposed he shouldn’t be: while Jackson obviously had no problem ‘hurting’ Stiles, he’d also become strangely protective of him since they’d started going out on their little dates.

Peter smiled wider, if possible. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, voice dripping with sincerity that no one in the room believed. “Besides, I had more than pain in mind.”

John suppressed a groan. John knew Peter excelled in humiliating Stiles in all the best ways that Stiles seemed to hate and love at the same time, and John had come to enjoy watching him do so. And Stiles obviously goaded Peter into it at times, John thought, recalling how he’d taunted Peter while the man had fucked him at the last Pack meeting, until Peter had growled and grabbed his nuts, twisting them until Stiles cried out and they both came with Peter fucking him so hard, they nearly rocked the chair Stiles was draped over to the floor. 

Stiles had also been trying to get John to let go more in bed (and out of it), revel in his kinks, it’s okay, Dad, I want it, etc. He’d especially been trying to get John to–not hurt him more, but definitely get rougher, enough that John knew there was more than a little masochist in Stiles, more than a little of a humiliation slut. (John had asked him somewhat hesitantly, one night when they were lying in bed together, if that was why Stiles was okay with dressing up in girl’s clothes and being called feminine names. Stiles had just blinked up at him and pointed out that no, because he didn’t find being a girl all that humiliating. Which made John simultaneously want to slap himself and feel a little proud of his son.)

John knew himself, though, knew there were some darker, crueler parts to himself, and he had always carefully kept those in check. So maybe it was time to let that part of him loose a little.

He likely startled all three of them when he said, “I’ll take some of that action.”

Both Jackson and Peter turned to him, as if noticing he was even in the room for the first time, and Jackson seemed surprised at what John said. But Peter’s smile returned, and more than a little speculation at John.

Fuck it, John thought again.

Before Peter could say anything further (probably ill-advised that would have made John rethink this plan), Stiles returned, still in his cheerleader uniform, and handed over the item he’d brought for his punishment with a smirk.

It was a washrag.

“What the hell?” Jackson said.

“Use your imagination,” Stiles said smugly.

John knew he’d likely done that just to see what punishment Jackson and Peter were going to come up with, but he thought this was the perfect time to set the tone and introduce himself into this little scene, so he walked over to Stiles without comment, lifted the back of his skirt, and laid down three hard spanks on his bare ass.

“That was disrespectful and rude to your Pack, bitch,” John said sternly at Stiles’ surprised face. “Now apologize to Jackson and go get three things from the junk drawer.”

Stiles, bless his kinky and devious little heart, was always quick on the uptake, and after looking at John’s face for a moment, dropped his gaze, mumbled a ‘sorry’ to Jackson, and then went into the kitchen.

John could picture a couple of items in the drawer, and he could think of a few things Stiles might pick, just to be a snot or to see what they would come up with, but apparently Stiles was feeling a little less rebellious–and a little more eager for his ‘punishment’ now that he knew it was going to be his dad as well as Peter and Jackson administering it. He put the items on the table and looked down, as if in submission. (Ha, John thought at that unlikely prospect, but still felt his hardening dick twitch at the thought.) There was a short coil of soft rope, a wooden ruler, and a long-handled wooden spoon (which John was fairly certain hadn’t been in that drawer, but was willing to let Stiles have that license for the moment).

“Come here, bend over and touch your toes,” Peter said casually, not doubting he would be obeyed.

As usual, Stiles glared at Peter, but did as he said. He didn’t even hesitate to comply when Peter kicked his feet wider and flipped up his skirt, so his hole and genitals were on complete display to the two werewolves and John.

“Mmm, such a lovely cunt on such a naughty bitch,” Peter cooed, rubbing his hand through Stiles’ spread cleft, causing Stiles to shiver. Peter pinched one cheek hard and said, “Quiet, bitch. This is about our pleasure, not yours.”

That earned him another glare, but Stiles didn’t further object.

“So what first?” Jackson asked as he eyed Stiles’ hole hungrily. John couldn’t blame him, he supposed, since the guy had been happily fucking away not too long before and still hadn’t come.

“Well, I think first we should make sure these nasty little balls don’t shoot off too soon again,” Peter said, grabbing the rope and starting to wrap up Stiles’ cock and balls with it. When he was done, the three of them stood and admired Peter’s handiwork.

It looked relatively simple, what Peter had done with the simple length of soft rope: it wrapped around Stiles’ balls, separating them tightly but neatly from his dick, and the rest of the length of rope of about three feet left dangling below him. The object was obviously to keep Stiles from coming, which he knew Peter loved to do with Stiles, but it was also obvious Stiles’ cock was already struggling to get hard again, in spite—or because—of the tight bondage around it. 

"Hm, much better,” Peter said, admiring his own work. “But I think we need a better look at what we have to work with. Reach back and spread your cheeks, bitch, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said, casually, as if this were a simple request like asking for the salt at dinner.

Stiles reached back, without a word, and held his cheeks apart so they could see his hole clearly displayed. John was always amazed at how tight and wet it looked. No matter how much they all pounded it—and he’d even witnessed Scott and Boyd double-team him once, and hadn’t that been a sight to behold—it still returned to that almost-virginal tightness that was oh-so-wonderful to sink his bare cock into. Even now, right after Jackson had been fucking him for who knew how long, the only sign it had encased a not-insubstantial cock minutes before was the tell-tale moisture that would have been a combination of Jackson’s precum and Stiles’ magically induced “natural” lubricant. 

With all of that on display, John’s mind raced over what they could do to his son, and he let himself start thinking about all the things he could do, all the things he so rarely let himself think of doing to Stiles, but his eyes kept going down to where Stiles’ tied-up balls were hanging between his legs looking oddly vulnerable.

“Jackson, since the bitch 'insulted’ you first, why don’t you start?” Peter offered magnanimously.

Jackson, eyes hungry and flashing blue, played along. “Go bend over the table, bitch,” he demanded.

Stiles stood up and went to where he’d been lying on the dining room table earlier, but bent forward, chest down on the wood. Jackson immediately picked up the wooden spoon Stiles had brought, and positioned himself, obviously ready to begin when Peter interrupted.

“If I may suggest?” Peter said, still overbearingly polite. He reached down and grabbed the length of rope hanging from Stiles’ cock and balls, tugged on the rope until Stiles’ balls were pulled back and Stiles gasped, then put the end of the rope in Stiles’ hand. “Hold on to your leash,” Peter told Stiles. “We wouldn’t want our Pack Bitch’s balls to get damaged.” 

John rubbed himself through his pants, but didn’t say anything.

Jackson just smirked, then spoke to Stiles: “I want you to count each of these out, then say, 'I’m sorry, sir,’ after each, bitch.”

Stiles mumbled something John was sure even werewolf hearing couldn’t parse, but Jackson didn’t seem to mind, bringing the spoon down in a high arc onto Stiles’ displayed ass.

Stiles cried out and said, “One. I’m sorry, sir.” If his tone sounded more sarcastic than apologetic, the smile on Jackson’s face said that would change soon.

John watched, still rubbing himself through his pants, and felt an odd sort of detachment about the whole thing, as Jackson and Stiles repeated this sequence several more times. John, himself, had taken to spanking Stiles at least a couple of times a week, and he knew Stiles enjoyed it as much as he did. But he hadn’t moved much beyond over-the-knee spanking, enjoying that intimacy of feeling Stiles’ skin heat up and give under his bare hand. He’d thought about using his belt on him, had 'threatened’ Stiles with it, but still couldn’t resist the allure of making it flesh-to-flesh.

Still, when Stiles’ voice cracked on “Eight. I’m sorry, sir,” John felt his dick twitch in his pants. And when Stiles actually sobbed between “Twelve” and “I’m sorry, sir,” he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep from coming before it was his turn.

At “Twenty. I’m sorry, sir,” barely intelligible through the sobs, John noticed they were all breathing harder, Jackson’s still exposed cock throbbing visibly. Peter had also pulled his out at some point, and stroked it while looking at Stiles’ ass hungrily.

It was quite the sight, with strange, oval shaped pale marks surrounded by red, and John caught his breath wondering what it would look like later, sure that it would bruise nicely, though briefly, since Stiles’ never seemed to bruise for long anymore. 

It was also exactly what Jackson seemed to want, too, as he tossed the spoon aside and plunged his dick into Stiles’ ass without warning, causing Stiles to cry out, perhaps only in surprise, but John was sure there was discomfort, as well.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Cum. Bitch,” Jackson said through gritted teeth, punctuated by a hard full length thrust. To emphasize the point, he’d also grabbed Stiles’ 'leash’, yanking on it so that his cock and balls jerked forward, and Stiles cried out again, obviously in pain (though his cock was completely hard, John noticed).

It didn’t take Jackson long, and he was obviously on the verge of coming when Peter said, “Not in his hole.” John thought Jackson would ignore him, but the boy suddenly pulled out of Stiles’ ass. He then nearly threw Stiles off the table and on to the ground and began to cum all over his face. 

John had never been one much for bukkake, but seeing his son, kneeling there, tears mixing with Jackson’s cum, even as Jackson, smeared it around with the tip of his dick, he supposed he could understand the appeal. Stiles just closed his eyes and let him, licking out occasionally to get a taste of Jackson’s cock.

And damn, was John tempted to sink between those painting lips, to choke his son on his cock, but he also wanted to see what Peter would do next. And he had some ideas he really wanted to try first, before he came.

“Excellent,” Peter practically purred, and turned to John. “Sheriff, would you like to go next?”

John shook his head. Not only did he not have werewolf stamina, he was pretty sure he wanted to keep a clear head for whatever Peter had planned next.

“In that case: Bitch, stand up and bend back over the table,” he directed Stiles.

Stiles was once again unusually obedient and rose to his feet, hard cock standing out in front of him, rope dangling between his legs. 

“Spread your cheeks again,” Peter directed, sounding as if he weren’t stroking a substantially large erection. 

This time Stiles hesitated, then hissed as he reached back, hands spreading his reddened ass to expose the pale center, his hole already closing from the violent fuck Jackson had thrown at it. But, John noted, Stiles didn’t object otherwise, didn’t say no or his safeword or anything close to an objection before obeying Peter’s order.

“Oh, dear,” Peter said tickling at Stiles’ still-bound balls. “We still need to keep your pretty little marbles safe. Let me help you with that.” He picked up the end of the rope, and made Stiles open his mouth. “Bite.” Stiles did with a slight whimper, as John noticed the rope was just a little too short, pulling tight, and tugging at his balls.

“There now, safe and sound,” Peter said, patting Stiles’ purpling nuts pleasantly. 

Stiles whimpered, but still clutched the rope between his teeth and didn’t let go.

John finally released his throbbing cock to the cool air to give himself a little relief.

Peter contemplated the ruler still sitting on the table for a moment, but shook his head. “I’m afraid you didn’t bring me anything to help with what I have in mind. Ah, well, next time I’ll come a bit more prepared. For now…”

John didn’t have much time to contemplate what Peter might have been planning before he positioned himself next to Stiles and brought his hand down hard directly on his hole.

John’s cock jumped as Stiles cried out, jerking forward and, not coincidentally, pulling the rope between his teeth more taut so that it jerked his balls visibly forward, as well. From where he was standing, John could see Stiles’ face, wet with tears and the drying come Jackson had smeared there. And fuck, he’d never wanted his son more.

“Now, obviously I won’t expect you to count,” Peter said, as casually as ever, though his own cock was wet with precome where it hung from his pants. “But I do expect you to present yourself properly. Raise your ass, please.”

Stiles did so, hands still pulling his cheeks apart.

“Oh, and this time, push out your hole a bit, like there’s a Pack cock you’re desperate for waiting to get in. I need a better target.”

It took a moment, but Stiles did just that: the lips of his hole pooched out, as if reaching for a kiss.

“Ah, there’s a proper cunt,” Peter praised him, and rubbed Stiles’ head as if he were a pet. John didn’t think it was his imagination that made him think Stiles leaned into that touch, just a little, even as it dragged his balls in a new direction.

“Two,” Peter said and brought his hand down again, directly on to those lips, and Stiles cried out again, still clutching the rope with his teeth.

“Again, bitch,” Peter directed calmly, and Stiles once again pooched out his hole to create a target for Peter’s abuse.

Peter didn’t have to ask again, bringing his hand down once more, and Stiles shouting, now outright sobbing, and immediately creating Peter’s desired target, asking for more. 

And fuck if John didn’t want to try it himself, lay his hand down against his son’s hole to make him cry out, punish that slutty little cunt for letting them do this to it…

After the fifth spank, Peter changed it up, and stepped quickly behind Stiles without warning, sinking his cock balls-deep into Stiles’ abused hole. Stiles sobbed loudly in response, dropping the rope in the process, but pushing his ass back for more.

Fuck, it must be hot in there, John thought, grabbing his own cock and balls to keep himself from coming, throbbing now and leaking all over the floor. He looked at Stiles’ hole, red and stretched obscenely around Peter’s thick cock and wanted to shove Peter aside so he could feel that heat surrounding him as well.

“Pick it up,” Peter said fiercely, shoving the end of the dropped rope back into Stiles’ openly sobbing mouth. “Keep it there, you fucking bitch,” he said, thrusting hard again into him.

“Fuck, let me at him,” Jackson said. John almost startled, nearly having forgotten he was there. The boy’s cock was throbbing hard again, and he was stroking it, eyes glued to where Peter was fucking Stiles. “Let me fuck that pussy.”

Peter actually growled and flashed his blue eyes at Jackson, growling, “You had your turn” while thrusting harder. Jackson flashed his own back and growled, and suddenly, through the heat of the moment, John felt a bit of rational thought come through that he was standing between two werewolves, fucking his son, neither of whom were the most stable people he’d ever met.

Fortunately, Jackson backed down before John had to remember where the wolfsbane bullets were locked away, but glared as he resentfully stroked his cock. Also fortunately, it gave him a bit of a breather, backing down his own imminent orgasm, though he could feel it edge closer again as Peter howled moments later as he fucked one last time into Stiles, who was sobbing beneath him.

Peter thrust into him a few more times, obviously enjoying Stiles milking the last of his orgasm out of him. As usual, he growled something into Stiles’ ear that John couldn’t quite catch, but that made Stiles shudder.

It also made Jackson’s eyes widen, and shoot his latest orgasm across Stiles’ back, which Peter quickly got out of the way of.

After Peter and Jackson caught their breaths—though Stiles was whining, obviously still on the edge and probably in more than a little pain, considering the abuse his ass had taken—Peter pulled out and stepped back.

“Alright, Sheriff: your turn,” he said, as if he didn’t expect much from John.

John looked down at his son, covered in cum and his ass beginning to bruise already, and part of him wanted to take him up to his room and gently wash him, hide him away and protect him.

The rest of him, though…

He reached down and felt his son’s balls, so soft and hairless and so delicate looking. Stiles had once again released his leash the rope dangling between his legs. He leaned over to look at Stiles’ face, wet with sweat and tears and still slightly cum-streaked and said in his ear, “Stiles,” because he couldn’t even think to ask for what he wanted, how to put into words what he wanted to do.

Stiles turned his head, still panting and smiled at John. “Please hurt me, Daddy,” he said, looking straight into John’s eyes.

John suppressed a shudder of desire, and instead stood up. Still holding Stiles’ balls in one hand, he reached for the wooden ruler sitting on the table, and before he could talk himself out of it, brought it down firmly across Stiles’ testicles. 

Stiles screamed and John thought he would come right there.

He didn’t, though. Instead, he brought his hand back up and brought the ruler down again, watching in almost detached fascination as those balls in his hand, so naked and vulnerable, turned a darker shade of purple with each blow.

He hit them a third time, a fourth, and he stopped, listening to Stiles’ sobs and panting to keep his own arousal in check. He juggled them, just a little, to hear Stiles whimper in pain, and thought about twisting them, squeezing them nearly to the point of them bursting in his hand. He felt a thrill of power over his son, power Stiles had given him freely, and fuck, wasn’t that as hot as anything else.

“Do you want another, bitch?” John made himself ask, his voice croaking with barely controlled desire. “Ask for it.”

“Please, Daddy,” Stiles said, barely understandable through his crying. “Hit me again.”

And John brought the ruler down one last time.

Stiles cried out, and John couldn’t stop himself anymore, moving quickly behind his son and fucking into him with one thrust.

He didn’t last long, only a couple of thrusts, but he muttered to himself as well as Stiles, “Fucking cunt, such a hot cunt,” because it was, almost too hot with all the punishment it had taken, and he was already planning when he could do this with Stiles again.

He came to the sounds of Stiles’ sobs and his own shout.

He draped himself across Stiles’ back, and palmed Stiles’ ass, partly to feel the heat and partly to renew Stiles’ cries again. 

“Well, well,” Peter said placing his hand on John’s back as if congratulating him. “You do have hidden depths, Sheriff. I’m impressed.” 

The last of his orgasm shuddering through him, John turned to glare over his shoulder at Peter, until the werewolf removed his hand.

Stiles whimpered again as John pulled out of him, and said, “Please let me come.”

“Hm,” Peter said, as if considering. “What do you think, gentlemen? Has our bitch been punished enough?”

“Bitch already came, that’s what started it,” Jackson said, though he didn’t seem too inclined to argue much.

“Sheriff?” Peter asked him.

John pulled Stiles up by his arm, and Stiles stood slowly, obviously in discomfort, both from the abuse he’d received and his still-bound cock, which was standing up, purple and leaking. “I think he’s earned something,” John conceded.

“Well, I suppose,” Peter said, as if being incredibly magnanimous. “All right, since I’m feeling generous.” Peter pulled out a chair from the table and sat. “Come over here and give me your leash. Now kneel.”

Stiles followed the instructions without argument, his tear- and come-streaked face looking at Peter intently for his salvation. 

“You can come like the bitch you are,” Peter said, almost kindly. “If you can come from humping my leg.”

And fuck, John wished he had werewolf stamina as he watched his son start to move his hips, moving his cock against Peter’s pants as Peter held his leash and cooed encouragement.

“There you are, you can do it, that’s a good bitch” Peter said, and Stiles whimpered, trying to reach his orgasm, but obviously having difficulty, humping with greater speed and beginning to cry again.

“Here, let me help you,” Peter said, and John watched as he raised his foot between Stiles’ legs and nudged the toe of his shoe hard into Stiles’ tender balls. 

Stiles came with a shout and a sob. 

He knelt there for a few moments, crying against Peter’s knee, his hips jerking softly now and then against Peter’s shin, and John thought there was actually an element of tenderness in how Peter petted Stiles’s head, rubbing it softly, even if his words of encouragement were still along the lines of “There now, that’s a pretty bitch. Such a good bitch for me.”

Stiles’ breathing and sobs finally stopped, just a few hiccups left as he leaned against Peter’s leg. John knelt down beside him, now that the his arousal had passed becoming concerned once more for his son.

“You okay, baby?” John said, slipping more into the language he used when he and his daughter were spending time together.

Stiles turned his face up to John, still covered in drying cum with tears streaking his face, and smiled, tired but beautiful. “I’m good, Daddy. Do you think the others will be over soon?”

John heard Jackson and Peter both laugh, and he chuckled himself, as he petted Stiles’ hair and found himself echoing Peter’s earlier words: “That’s our pretty bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr.


End file.
